


Sisu

by whiffingbooks



Series: Eleusinian Mysteries (or the things untold) [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Drabble, Gen, I love Ginny Weasley, Post-Canon, Post-War, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 18:39:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19382488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiffingbooks/pseuds/whiffingbooks
Summary: Sometimes your scars define you for who you are.





	Sisu

**Author's Note:**

> Hey,guys!
> 
> Being Harry Potter's anything is dangerous and Ginny finds that first hand. Need I say more?  
> Have fun and leave kudos!

When she finally had the time to look at herself in the mirror, she was mildly surprised.

She looked terrible as usual. The last year had been a torture for everyone; sleepless nights spent worrying about their friends and families and finding new ways of rebelling against those who were tormenting them. Between leading the DA and the constant worrying and planning, she had lost a lot of weight. The shadows underneath her eyes looked as if she had used black paint. Her hair had lost all the shine and silkiness it once possessed; now it resembled the dead twigs found in the Burrow’s back garden.

However the word emblazoned on her stomach was ghastly in a way nothing else looked.

She still remembered the way Amycus had looked at her, his eyes filled with hatred and pleasure as he saw her writhing. She didn’t know what would have happened if she was a half-blood or even worse, a muggleborn. She didn’t want to know. The Carrows usually used the Cruciatus Curse or the Slicing Spell or Corporissum Spell but later on, they had started using physical violence to subdue some of the more outspoken students.

A memory of Michael being chained up and repeatedly beaten and tortured flashed in front of her eyes. A wave of sadness threatened to overwhelm her. Michael had lost his right leg in the battle and still he sent a letter conveying his sympathies to her. Maybe she didn’t deserve the boy as much as she had felt he didn’t deserve her. There’s after all no point dwelling in the past.

The dark red letters on her stomach didn’t even look like proper letters. It looked like some child had tried to write for the first time.  _You will look in the mirror and remember how you left all your pureblooded ideals for a mudblood society and suffered for it_ , Alecto had whispered.  _No,_  she thought _, I only see what I fought for. Why I fought_.

She swirled her hand on the slightly raised skin, tracing the letters gently. Her body was littered with many scars; one on her shoulder from where she had fallen, one above her left eyebrow where the debris had hit her, the scratches against her throat where the Deatheater had choked her. But none of them seemed as significant as the one displayed on her midriff. It felt more personal than the others. After all, it was not in heat of the moment. The word was carved on her with deliberate slowness so that every letter made her scream and bleed profusely.

They had left her in her bloodied and torn robes for Neville to find who carried her to McGonagall’s chambers. They couldn’t use the infirmary in fear of being found out. It was the first time she had seen Neville and McGonagall look so angry that they were ready to go and attack the Carrows. But she stopped them. It didn’t make her feel less anxious the next day when her friend cursed Crabbe and Goyle and landed himself in detention for five weeks straight.

“Ginny?” Hermione’s soft voice travelled through the closed door. “Everyone’s ready. We’re waiting for you.”

Taking a deep breath, she pulled down the black dress from where it was bundled up. Alecto had taunted her regarding who she was; she tried to shame her into obeying by carving who she was into her skin.  _The scars won’t fade_ , a voice whispered.  _Good_ , she argued back. Fading means forgetting and she might let go of the past but she won’t let go of her identity.

“Here,” picking up her shoes, she opened the door to see Hermione wringing her hands nervously. A blaze of rightness hit her. Hadn’t she fought the war for her friend too? For the countless who couldn’t defend themselves against the corrupt?

_Bloodtraitor_ , the words burned.

_Yes,_ Ginny thought _, Bloodtraitor and proud._


End file.
